


Kilroy the Husky (Steve Rogers Finally Gets A Puppy)

by Bandanamonkey



Series: Happy Steve Bingo [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bandanamonkey/pseuds/Bandanamonkey
Summary: “What did you expect? No, honestly, enlighten me. Did you think it was going to be like a pet food commercial, where the damn thing runs around in slow motion and maybe makes a tiny mess? That you’d be hooting and hollering in the background as it gets kibble all over the floor?"orSteve gets a puppy and Tony tries to cope.





	Kilroy the Husky (Steve Rogers Finally Gets A Puppy)

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for the "puppies" square on my Happy Steve Bingo card. I guess I'll make this into a series, because I'm going to try to fill all of the squares within the next couple of months. Each one will probably be short.  
> This one can either be read as Steve/Tony or gen.

“What did you expect? No, honestly, enlighten me. Did you think it was going to be like a pet food commercial, where the damn thing runs around in slow motion and _maybe_ makes a tiny mess? That you’d be hooting and hollering in the background as it gets kibble all over the floor? I could have told you-“

Steve shut his eyes and breathed, long and slow, in through his nose and out through his mouth, just as Bruce had taught him. Between the small crater in his couch cushion, the padded filling in pieces all over his living room floor, Tony’s babbling, and Kilroy screaming in the other room, he knew he was being tested.

_God is testing me_ , Steve’s mother always used to sigh when he’d come home with a split lip or a black eye or a homework assignment that had conveniently fallen into a puddle.

_God is testing me_ , Steve thought, and wrinkled his nose a little when he realized that he sounded exactly like his mother. Golly.

“—didn’t just let me make you a robot. Dogbot. Doginator? Robodog. Dog-tron. Starkdog? Starkdog! Starkdog, your no-mess worry-less robotic pooch! Two ninety-nine-ninety-nine or four easy payments of—”

“Tony, no. Save it for Monopoly night.”

“At least then I wouldn’t have _stepped_ in _dog shit_ in my own kitchen, _Ken_!”

“Don’t call me that. I understand that reference.”

Contrary to Tony’s belief, it really hadn’t been on a whim. Seven weeks ago, when Steve had first visited the most reputable Siberian Husky breeder in New York, it had been after a good six months of extensive research on the breed. He’d read everything there was to know about Huskies before coming the conclusion that _yes_ , he wanted one for many reasons, not the least of which was that it would make a great running partner. And he’d always wanted a puppy: Back when he and Bucky were growing up in their tiny rear tenements in Brooklyn, the closest Steve’d had to a pet was Rocky the Rat, a rodent the size of a small cat that Steve had covertly let live in his closet until one day his mother had found it and “took it to a farm, dear heart, where it will be happy.”

So now Steve had Kilroy the Husky, a gorgeous black and white ball of fluff who was very nice to look at and to cuddle. Kilroy had the following abilities: digging through couch cushions, putting holes in drywall, and (possibly) breaking the sound barrier.

“Stop being mean; he can understand you,” Steve interrupted just as Tony began to get even more wound up. “Sorry about the, uh, mess. I didn’t see it. He hasn’t had an accident all week.”

“Tell that to my Berluti!” Tony cried.

Steve rolled his eyes and leaned over the baby gate that divided the kitchen from the living room. Kilroy stopped howling and jumped up at him, wriggling and thrashing and biting at Steve’s fingers once he was in Steve’s arms. Finally, once the pup gave up and went limp, Steve set him down and Kilroy took off to roll around in the remains of the couch cushion.

“He’ll be better in a few months. We start his puppy classes next week,” Steve said. “Can you…do something with your shoe and help me clean up the rest of this foam? I don’t want him to eat it.”

Seeing Tony Stark cleaning on his hands and knees, making comically high-pitched sounds whenever Kilroy sunk those nasty little puppy teeth into his bare feet, was probably worth the destruction and the mess and the chaos.

(Six months later, when Kilroy whipped his head into the air and sent a tennis ball flying right into Tony’s nose, Steve decided that yes, it was totally worth it.)


End file.
